


Light Lines

by 8611



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Tron - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, And everyone's got a program, Digital Violence, Everyone's a programmer, F/M, M/M, Open Relationships, The Grid, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8611/pseuds/8611
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey scottmccallme and stilinskiing, great news! You’ve been selected for The Grid developer beta through the third round of the lottery! (Tron/Programmer!AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daunt/gifts).



> This wouldn't exist if it wasn't for [Daunt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/daunt), for srs. Her art originally inspired it, and when I got majorly stalled on she pulled out the big guns (seriously, there are multiple google docs full of plot points that she organized like a total boss) and majorly, majorly helped me iron everything out. Plus, she livestreamed stuff for me while I was writing and was just generally amazing. <3!
> 
> Also: huge thanks to the amazing [starsandgraces](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgraces) for the beta and continuing to put up with my un-edited writing despite my constant confusion about commas and strange, strange typos. <3 and also to [mincamo](http://mincamo.tumblr.com/) who I ran the computer-y stuff by to make sure it didn't sound too much like a liberal arts major wrote it. :)

_Wired, September 2021_  
 **The Grid in developer beta test**

Encom announced on Monday that its long rumored program called The Grid is not only up and running, but it’s in beta tests – if you’re a developer, that is. The Grid, a closed virtual reality, has been a badly kept secret for years, but it wasn’t ever clear how operational it was. The first people outside the company to get their hands on The Grid are third party developers, who can enter a lottery for the chance to take it for a spin. The press release contained slim pickings but it’s generally assumed that players can enter The Grid as avatars, although it’s unknown exactly what else the space can play host to. Considering the blast door-type NDAs Encom is known for, it looks like right now that’s all we’re going to get. 

\---

For internal release:

The Grid is now in a developer beta, as of 9:00 AM PST this morning. The R&D department has advised that information leaks could be a problem, and the legal department has suggested that no mention of AI programs should happen. For the time, the news is reporting an avatar program, which will be confirmed by the company, should it be asked. 

\---

Hey scottmccallme and stilinskiing, great news!

Congratulations, you’ve been selected for The Grid developer beta through the third round of the lottery! You’ll have access to the The Grid starting Monday morning next week, but first we need a few things from you. There are two documents attached to this email: terms and conditions (we know, we know, we don’t usually read them either – but we suggest you give it a look), and an NDA. Once both of these have both of your electronic signatures, we’ll FedEx hard copies of The Grid to you on two hard drives, as well as two VR band headsets. 

We’re looking forward to hearing from you!  
The Grid Dev Team

\---

_Two years later_

“Vox!”

Someone is yelling his name –- Inq. He spins around to him, disc already in hand, and freezes at the look on Inq’s face. He’s afraid. Vox has never seen him afraid before. He realizes that it’s not Inq in trouble, it’s _him_.

“Get out of there!” Inq yells, stranded behind the glass wall of another arena box.

Vox turns back around, just in time for someone to plunge the box into unnatural darkness, the light strips going dark. 

A shape materializes from the floor, building itself up voxel by voxel. It glows with a sickly green light – a virus. 

_Shit shit shit_. He backs up as his helmet undulates and curls over his head, sealing itself to the neck of his light suit. He drops into a defensive stance, unlocking his disc and transferring the bottom half to his other hand. 

“Now now,” the shape says as it materializes into a program. “There’s no need for violence.”

The virus moves before Vox is even aware, shooting through space and knocking into Vox, sending him into the wall of the box. He slides down it, trying to scramble for purchase, but the virus gets a hand around his neck and one on his side, curving over his hip.

When the virus’ fingers puncture his side, he feels a scream rising in his throat right before everything drops away into dark, inky nothingness.

\---

Stiles is just about to settle into a _Jurassic Park_ marathon when his phone beeps, telling him he has a text. He sighs, breathing out through his nose and frowning at the phone. He’s gotten all settled in for an awesome night of solitude – it’s Allison’s birthday, so Scott’s out wining and dining and bedding, etc. – and is not in a hurry to upset the bowl of popcorn he’s got in his lap to reach for the dang thing. 

Stiles figures it’s probably no one. He eyes the phone for another second before deciding that the movie is more important. He’s just hit play when the phone beeps again. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake--“ Stiles mutters, and grabs the phone with a sigh, upsetting the popcorn bowl. 

There are two texts from Scott. Stiles can only imagine that it’s something ridiculous, like Scott has gotten in a fight with Allison somehow (granted, Stiles has never seen them argue, but there’s a first time for everything) and is texting Stiles for ideas of how to get out of it.

What he finds when he opens the texts, however, is a bit different. 

**Scott (21:16:44)**  
 _Hey, bit of an emergency._

**Scott (21:18:02)**  
 _No I’m serious dude, I think someone broke into my car._

Stiles stares at the text for a few seconds to make sure that he has in fact read it correctly. Texting Scott back seems somewhat lacking in expediency, so he calls him instead. 

“Someone broke into your car?” Stiles asks as soon as Scott picks up.

“They smashed a window and popped the trunk,” Scott says, sounding pinched. 

“Is Allison with you?”

“Yeah, she’s right here.”

“They take anything?” Stiles knows that Scott keeps a fair bit of stuff in his car, and he’d taken a decent amount of computer equipment to work this morning because he’d known he’d have free time. It wouldn’t be a huge problem if Scott’s laptop was stolen; they keep most of their stuff encrypted and on drives, but that’s still a pretty chunk of change. 

“Yeah, and that’s the biggest problem.”

“We can replace your laptop.”

“That’s still here. They took Vox’s drive.”

Stiles sucks in a breath, leaning forward. The popcorn topples to the ground, but he ignores it. 

“Why did you even have that with you?” He asks. 

“I was working on him earlier! I know, I know. I’m already beating myself up about this. I can’t believe I didn’t have him on another drive.”

“That was technically the backup,” Stiles says. “He’s still on your computer, right?”

“Yeah, but what if someone decrypts that drive?”

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, putting his head in his hands. Scott’s had numerous offers for Vox since he showed up on The Grid, mostly from the kind of large, dubiously governmentally-related companies that would probably use him for evil. 

“Let’s hope they don’t,” Stiles says. “It had to have been the Hales or the Argents.”

“Allison’s going to love that. You know she hates all this computer stuff and gets all silent when you mention that her grandfather’s company is kinda shady.”

“It’s kinda _massively_ shady.”

“Well, you can tell her that, I’m not. Look, the cops just got here, but I’ll call you when I’m done with them, ok?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” 

Stiles hangs up and stares at the ground through where he’s got his fingers spread across his face. There’s something else worrying him, and he gets up, heading for his room. 

His Grid VR band is hanging on the edge of his monitor and he grabs it as he sits down, slipping it over his ears. The diodes settle against his forehead and glow dully, casting light across the bridge of his nose and eyes in the darkness of his room. 

Reality drops away in a cascade of pixels, and for a moment his vision is nothing but absolute blackness. In the space of a heartbeat he’s dropped onto the grid, seeing it through Inq’s eyes. 

They’re sitting at a noodle stand downtown, and Stiles can see as Inq straightens up, suddenly aware of Stiles in his head. It’s night - it always is on The Grid - and there’s a light rain falling. The water reflects the light strips, making everything glow a blue-white. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Inq says, before shoveling a bite of noodles into his mouth.

_Hey, I need a favor._

“Shoot.”

_Have you seen Vox today?_

“I was talking to him like an hour ago, but he cut out. I figured Scott had taken him offline to work on him; he did it around lunch time.”

_Shit. Can you find him for me?_

“If he’s offline I can’t--“

_He’s not offline. Something weird is going on._

“Interesting.” Inq turns away from the noodle stand, spinning his stool around, and hunches over, speaking quietly. “Shady things are afoot?”

_I’m thinking so. Find Vox, no matter what you have to do._

“Aye aye, captain, I’m on it.”

\---

After filling out a police report and apologizing for ruining Allison’s birthday (although, it’s not his fault), Scott had gotten a text from Stiles to meet him at, of all places, Encom. 

It’s after hours on a Friday night and Scott is fully expecting the door to be locked. However, it gives way when he pushes, letting him into the deserted lobby. Scott figures that there should be a security guard at the main desk, but even that’s empty. 

He frowns, and is reaching for his phone to text Stiles when one comes through. 

**Stiles (23:22:09)**  
 _45th floor, turn left out of the elevator bank and go until you can’t go anymore. There’s a door cracked open._

**Scott (23:23:48)**  
 _This is getting weird, Stiles._

**Stiles (23:24:10)**  
 _Just trust me, dude._

Scott sighs, looking around. Still no sign of the security guard. He runs a hand through his hair and then gives in, heading for the nearest elevator. His steps echo in the empty space, and the ding of the elevator seems deafening. 

The 45th floor is just as dead as the lobby. Scott’s starting to wonder if Encom workers really do all split at quitting time on Friday or if something weirder is going on. Tonight has not exactly gone to plan. He’s already on edge because it turns out that, when he tried to turn his laptop on, it had mysteriously been fried. He’d be more worried, but Vox can recode himself and send the files to Scott. Mostly he’s just pissed off about how everything has gone so far. 

True to Stiles’ word, the door at the end of the corridor is cracked open. He slips through, closing it behind him carefully. 

The room he’s in is dark, the only light coming from the glow of the server racks that line one wall. It gives everything an eerie glow, although there’s not much else to see – the rest of the room is empty, save for some kind of industrial-looking machine pointing at a blank wall. It looks like something from CERN. 

The biggest problem is that Stiles isn’t here. 

“Oh, c’mon, bro,” Scott mutters. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, dialing Stiles. While he waits for it to ring he runs a hand over the machine, coming to stand in front of it. The metal is cool and perfectly smooth under his fingers. 

“Hey, you still at the station?” Stiles asks when the phone picks up. 

“No, I’m at Encom, like you asked me to be. What gives?”

Scott’s dully aware of the sound of something booting up in the background, a soft hum that rumbles across the floor. He figures it’s the racks and ignores it in favor of being angry at Stiles. 

“I didn’t ask you to be at Encom.” Stiles sounds honestly bewildered. “I’m sitting on the couch at home, dude.”

“You texted me,” Scott says. 

“I did?”

“Yeah, and I quote, “meet me in the Encom lobby, have a lead”.”

“I… definitely did not do that.”

“Ok, then what the hell is going –-“

The room is suddenly thrown into sharp relief, a brilliant blue-white light flooding into every corner. Scott throws an arm over his eyes, dropping his phone. He can hear Stiles calling for him, worried, as it falls. 

He doesn’t hear it hit the floor, though. Instead, everything goes perfectly dark. Scott lowers his arm, and as he does, the world lights back up around him.

He’s in the same room, but not quite. The ambient glow from the racks has been replaced by glowing lines following the contours of everything, the beige walls suddenly grey. He staggers back, thinking for one second that the light has ruined his vision, before it hits him. 

“Holy shit,” Scott wheezes, falling back against the wall. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Glad you could drop by,” someone above him says. When Scott looks up, he finds himself staring at Stiles – or rather, what Stiles would look like if he were a program. His hair is shorn on the sides, revealing circuits, and the lines trail down his chest and legs, following the grooves in his light suit. 

Scott just stares, open mouthed. Stiles – _Inq_ – raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I admit this is probably like mega disorienting,” Inq says. “But we’ve got a pro-- where are you going?”

Scott throws the door open, stumbling out into the hall. It’s the same – grey walls, black floor, strips of light running along the baseboard and around the doors. He runs back to the elevator bank, where he’d seen a window when he’d first come up here. 

He skids to a stop in front of the window, Inq hot on his heels and calling for him. He presses his hands to the window, staring out at the city spread out below him. It’s all black, the total darkness split by spires of glass and light. There are no stars in the sky, but there is, beyond the city, strips of light stretching out into nothing. 

He’s on The Grid. 

\---

“Scott?”

Nothing but dead air. Stiles stares at his phone, wondering if he’s making things up or if he really did just hear the weirdest noise possible over the connection. It had been like a Decepticon crossed with a velociraptor. 

He calls Scott back and starts freaking out right around the time that he gets a ‘this number cannot be reached’ message. Just to make sure he calls Scott three more times, and gets the same result.

“Fuckity fuck,” Stiles mutters, pacing. At this point he figures it’s safe to assume that something has gone wrong. This whole night is like a long string of things going wrong. 

He’s about to call Allison for lack of a better option when a text comes through. 

**192168123132 (23:34:38)**  
 _Don’t sweat it, he’s with me._

Stiles stares at it, his freak-out reaching panic attack proportions, when it clicks. 192. It’s an IP address. It’s actually _his_ IP address, if he’s not mistaken. 

It’s Inq. It has to be. And somehow, Scott is with him. Stiles has heard people talk about ways to physically get onto the grid, but he’d dismissed them on the grounds that they seem impossible. To transport a living, breathing human being to a fully digital space? Can’t be done.

Or, possibly can. Stiles had no idea if a text will go through, but he sends one back anyway. 

**Stiles (23:37:51)**  
 _Like, on The Grid with you?_

**192168123132 (23:37:57)**  
 _Yep, just like. You said we had to find Vox, so we’re going to._

**Stiles (23:39:01)**  
 _I didn’t mean by kidnapping Scott onto The Grid! You’re breaking the laws of physics._

**192168123132 (23:39:09)**  
 _Well then physics is now totally my bitch. We’ll find Vox and I’ll get Scott back to you, it’ll be fine._

**Stiles (23:39:33)**  
 _He better be._

**Stiles (23:39:51)**  
 _Also this is totally blowing my mind._

**Stiles (23:40:12)**  
 _After this is over you owe me like 397234 explanations._

**192168123132 (23:40:17)**  
 _Sure thing, boss._

Stiles stares at his phone for probably longer than is strictly necessary, but in his defense he’s kind of freaking out because Scott is _on The Grid_. People in general, it turns out, can be digitized. His world is doing a little bit of flipping on its axis and he figures he can totally have a moment to panic. 

He sits down heavily on the couch, blankly looking at the opposite wall. It occurs to him that maybe he should tell Allison. He’s not sure what to tell Allison exactly, though. _Hey, your boyfriend has been kidnapped by a computer program because I accidentally told him to do so and, oh yeah, he’s now inside a computer!_ Yeah, that will go down really well. Allison isn’t even into computers; she went to college for art history. Despite the family history, she’s never been part of that world. 

He chews on his nail for another couple of moments, still glaring at the opposite wall, before he gets up, grabbing his coat and keys. He’s going to have to tell Allison. 

Stiles worries his lip the whole drive over, trying to figure out how to phrase all this. He not only needs Allison to believe him, he also needs to make sure she’s not going to have him committed. 

She answers the door, wearing pajamas, after a hefty bit of doorbell ringing. Stiles opens his mouth to say something, but she just raises a sleepy eyebrow, sweeping messy hair out of her face. 

“This had better be good,” she says with a yawn, letting him in. “Today’s been exciting enough already.”

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Stiles says, rocking back and forth, up onto his toes and back down. “So, um, there’s no really good way to do this…”

“Stiles, just spit it out.”

“I might have accidentally gotten my avatar program to kidnap Scott – by accident, _I swear_ – and now he’s possibly in a computer.”

Allison stares at him for a long beat, both of them caught, like they’re waiting for the other to move. Stiles feels like he should be the one to speak, and he’s trying to come up with some way to explain this when Allison suddenly breaks down in giggles. 

Stiles just crosses his arms, glaring. 

“Allison, this is serious,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” she says, gasping between giggles. “But it’s all so _absurd_.” 

“Possibly a bit.” Stiles sighs. “I can’t believe this is how you react to being told your boyfriend has been digi-napped.” 

“Stiles, I might not know computers super well, but c’mon. People don’t just get sucked into programs.”

“I swear this is the situation we’re dealing with,” Stiles grumbles. “And I have half a mind to blame your people.”

“You have got to get over that,” Allison says. “I know the company isn’t the most… scrupulous, but we don’t kidnap people. Into computers.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I work there, Stiles. I might only do graphic design, but I’m the granddaughter of the CEO. I know what’s going on.”

“People keep secrets from family all the time.”

“Oh, sure, but I snoop. Trust me, we’re evil, but not _that_ evil.”

“If it’s not you, then we’ve got a bit of a field trip to make.”

“Stiles, it’s after midnight.” Allison looks at him pleadingly, running a hand through her hair. Stiles looks right back at her, pursing his lips. 

“I’m really worried about this. About Scott,” Stiles says finally. “I just… I can’t sit here and do nothing.”

Allison lets her arms hang for a moment before she crosses to Stiles, wrapping him up in a hug. 

“Let’s say this is a real thing,” Allison says. “Who were you thinking about going to see?”

Stiles lets his head drop down onto her shoulder, closing his eyes. He’s tired. It’s been a long day. But he can’t stop now, and he knows if he can convince Allison of what’s happening she won’t be able to stop either. They’re both like that, both have a ‘help Scott’ directive above most else. 

“The Hales.”

\---

“We really do have to get moving,” Inq says. Scott nods, only semi-paying attention. He’s still glued to the window, staring out at the expanse of the city. It’s their city, at the base, but it’s grown and warped to become the city that Scott is used to seeing through Vox’s eyes. 

“This is incredible,” Scott murmurs.

“Yep, you said that two minutes ago,” Inq says. “Trust me, you will have plenty of time to gape at everything, but for now we have to get across the city.”

“Wait, where _are_ we going?” Scott asks, turning around finally. 

“I think the Argents might have Vox,” Inq says. “They have a security compound near the edge of the city.”

“You want us to break into an Argent compound?”

“No sweat, I’ve done it before.”

“You’ve _what_?”

“Yeah, it’s chill. Might be a bit harder with a user with me, but we can do it.”

Scott is aware his mouth has dropped open, but he can’t help it. What have Stiles and Inq been up to? Inq’s a search engine, nothing more. Stiles even jokes around and calls him Jeeves from time to time. He’s not supposed to be slipping past security programs – and Argent security programs, at that. He shouldn’t physically be able to. 

“You and Stiles have been scheming, haven’t you?” Scott asks, crossing his arms.

“Uh, possibly,” Inq says. “Worry about that later. Right now, we need to get moving. Although, first – you can’t go out like that. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb. What are you even wearing?”

Scott looks down at himself, holding his arms out. He’s dressed in a basic pair of trousers and a button up shirt. He’d had a tie on originally as well, but that had gotten discarded in the car in frustration while waiting for the cops to show up. 

“What?” Scott asks, frowning. “These are just date clothes.”

“They’re ‘no-one-wears-anything-like-that-here’ clothes,” Inq says. “We can fix this.”

He leads Scott through the halls of the dark building, following the light strips. They end up in a room at the far corner of the building, and when Inq steps in, the ground glows under his feet, pulsing with that white-blue light that’s everywhere. The lights in the room rise to an ambient level, revealing rows and rows of what Scott thinks are server racks. However, when Inq steps up to one, he pulls out a dull, simple black disc. 

“You’re giving me an ID disc?” Scott asks, coming to stand next to Inq. This one isn’t glowing, the simple matte surface showing no signs of life. 

“Yep, no one can be on The Grid without one,” Inq says. He twists in in his hands, the upper half one way and the bottom the other way. It expands, held still in the air even when Inq pulls his hands back. When Scott reaches out to put a hand in the empty space between the two halves the air sparks around his hand, lines of circuitry appearing and vanishing quickly. 

“You know what to do with this?” Scott asks. He’s programed an ID disc in the real world, just staring at a flat computer screen, but he has no idea what it looks like here in this 3D space.

“I do indeed,” Inq says, and bumps Scott out of the way with his hip so that he can modulate the air that Scott was just poking at. Code spring to life under Inq’s fingers, and he works at it in a way that reminds Scott of someone plucking at the strings of an open piano.

“What’re you doing?” Scott asks, too curious to keep quiet. “And how do you know how to?”

“I’m faking an identity for you. Or, sort of faking. This is Vox’s early coding, so you’ll just read as a brand new beta program. I could probably do something more recent, but considering someone seems to have program-napped Vox, I don’t want you to read exactly like him. Also, you’ll get a new outfit out of this.” Inq draws his hands away and the code vanishes right before he snaps the two halves back together. “And Vox taught me how to do this.”

“Vox is teaching you how to code. God, that is so cool,” Scott says. In Inq’s hand, the disc starts to glow, a familiar, almost circular strip of light appearing near the edge. 

“He’s kinda a big deal,” Inq says, holding up the disc. “Don’t move.”

He spins Scott around by the shoulder and holds the disc up to Scott’s back. Scott’s expecting to feel something, but instead all he gets is the sudden feeling of air against his skin when his own clothes drop away into voxels that vanish before they hit the floor. When he’s about to protest that he’s going to end up naked, the under-layer of a light suit starts snaking its way across his body, from his wrists to his neck, and fully covering his feet. He watches, wide-eyed, as light armor and boots appear, voxel by voxel, the inverse of what had happened to his clothes. The last thing that curves its way around his body is what seems to be unmistakably a hoodie. 

It’s Vox’s original light suit, Scott realizes. The hoodie had been almost a joke, but Vox had kept it for a year before Scott had upgraded him to heavier armor so that he could fight in the Arena. 

“Man, you need to update Vox’s body mod,” Inq says, turning him back around as the light lines start glowing. The inside of the hood glows softly, throwing light across Scott’s face and making him blink at the sudden brightness. 

“What?” Scott asks, craning his neck around to stare at the disc now attached to his back. 

“You’re kinda cut, dude,” Inq says, and when Scott whips his head back around Inq is grinning, one eyebrow raised. “Share the love. Vox does not have that.”

“I started going to the gym last year,” Scott says, and he knows his jaw has come unhinged again. “Why do you –- are you –- seriously?”

“Just sayin’,” Inq shrugs. 

“You’re hitting on me,” Scott says. 

“Done a lot more than that with Vox.”

“ _What_?!”

“Oh, c’mon, what do you think we get up to when you’re not around? Tea parties? And don’t look at me like that; I know you’re sleeping with Stiles. I’ve seen the dick snapchats, Scott.”

“Oh my god, you have access to Stiles’ phone, don’t you?”

“That I do. Can we get moving?”

Scott boggles. Inq just looks a bit impish. He reaches out to close Scott’s jaw with one finger and then pats him on the shoulder. 

“God, I thought you guys were so cute and innocent,” Scott mutters once they’re in the elevator, heading for the ground level. 

“We’re still cute,” Inq points out. Scott just sighs and slumps against the wall of the elevator as the city streams by around them. 

\---

Stiles would feel bad about waking anyone else up at almost one in the morning, but from the last time he was in contact with the Hales, he seems to remember they never really slept. Well, Laura did, and he’s not so sure about Cora – she just vanished from time to time - but Stiles has never actually seen Derek asleep. 

The only reason he knows where they live, or at least where Laura lives, is because he got a Christmas card from her last year. The address turns out to be some fancy loft building downtown. They have to park in the underground garage, which creeps Stiles out a bit. Considering everything that’s gone wrong already today, horror movies and cop shows have taught Stiles that parking garages are excellent places for even more to go wrong. 

“Thank god we didn’t get jumped by a serial killer or parking garage ghost,” Allison says when they’re in the elevator. At Stiles’ startled look she plows on. “Please, tonight has been long, horrible, and weird.”

“No, no, not doubting that, just surprised that we were thinking the same thing.”

“CSI has taught us well.”

Stiles cracks a smile at that, and doesn’t miss the way Allison bites her lip to stifle a laugh. 

Allison is the one to knock. When nothing happens she tries again, although Stiles is starting to worry that they’re about to wake someone up.

“Maybe we should--“ Allison starts. 

She’s interrupted by the door swinging open, revealing Cora standing with a spoon wedged in her mouth and a confused look on her face. She’s got a bowl of ice cream in the hand that isn’t holding the door open.

“Uh, hi?” Cora says after relocating the spoon to the bowl. “Any particular reason you guys are here at a socially unacceptable visiting hour?”

“We need help,” Allison says. “With a, uh… computer issue.”

“Have you made sure the computer is plugged in,” Cora deadpans. “Wait, I don’t care. I’m not your IT support, Al.”

“Al?” Stiles asks, turning to Allison. 

“We were roommates in college,” Allison says, which Stiles knows. He raises his eyebrows at her. “And also possibly still friends.”

“Friends between the hours of noon and midnight,” Cora says. “Derek’s the freaky night person, not me. He’s up, if you really want to talk to him. Although if two programmers can’t figure the issue out, what’s a third going to do? But whatever.”

She holds the door open wide enough so that Allison and Stiles can slip in. Stiles narrows his eyes at Allison’s back - programmer? Since when?

“Thanks,” Allison says. Cora just rolls her eyes. 

“I’m going back to my movie, go find Derek and begone,” Cora says. She waves them off and heads down a hallway. Stiles takes a moment to look around – the loft is a huge, cavernous space, furnished in such a way as to be industrial but horribly cutting edge at the same time. Allison heads for a door at the back of the main room with enough purpose that Stiles can tell she’s definitely been here before. 

“Ok, spill the beans,” Stiles says. 

“We were roommates for three years, Stiles. We stayed friends. And she lives here, so I’ve been over here from time to time,” Allison says.

“So all of the Hales live here.”

“Yeah, I assumed you knew, when you headed over here.”

“No, I was just going on a Christmas card I got from Laura last year.”

“The adorable Tux one? Those were great.”

“Clearly you’re more buddy buddy with the Hales than I am.”

“Just Cora and Laura. Derek’s like talking to a broody brick wall.”

Stiles just snorts out a laugh. He’s more than aware of that particular fact. 

Allison knocks on the door, and upon getting a “yeah, come in”, leads the way inside. 

The room is a simple office with low bookcases and modular couches. Along one wall is a long desk with a couple of monitors mounted over it. The only light, besides the glow of the screens, is the sickly yellow light of the streetlamps outside the giant windows. 

Derek’s sitting in front of the monitors, his feet kicked up on the desk and a keyboard in his lap. He looks back at them when they shut the door, and he immediately frowns. 

“I’d give you some bullshit excuse like ‘oh, it’s still compiling’, but I don’t have your code ready yet because I haven’t gotten around to it. I have other things to do, Allison,” he says. 

“Ok, I’m missing something,” Stiles says. “Cora called you a programmer, and Derek’s working on code for you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Allison says breezily, waving it away. “Just a side project.”

“And what on earth are you doing here?” Derek asks, pointing at Stiles with what might be a tablet pen. Stiles would be in no way shocked if Derek kept one around just to point threateningly at people with it.

“I swear I come in peace,” Stiles says. 

“Yeah, you used that line on me last time, and then you ended up sneaking out before I woke up.”

“Ok, whoa, hey. I had class, dude.”

“Did you develop a sudden and highly specific case of amnesia that meant that you couldn’t leave a note or text me back?”

“Is that why you ignored me after that? Jesus, I spent months worrying that I had fucked up or something.”

“You did fuck up!”

“Sexually, asshole!”

“God, you’re like a child.”

“Um, guys,” Allison says, holding up a hand. “Not to interrupt this, but a) we have a problem, and b) you two slept together?”

Stiles sighs and says “once” at the same time that Derek growls out an “unfortunately.”

“Wow, that explains so much,” Allison says, looking almost thoughtful. “But, story for another day. I’m not here about… that thing we were talking about the other day. We’re here about Scott.”

“Oh, great,” Derek sighs. “What’s up now?”

“Actually, this might have something to do with what we were talking about the other day, now that I think about it. Not in the coding sense, but in the theoretical sense,” Allison says. “Scott’s on The Grid with Inq, because Vox is missing.”

Stiles turns to stare at Allison, looking at her like he has no idea who she is. And, turns out, he might not.

“Um, how do you know all this?” Stiles asks. 

“Before he dropped me off, Scott told me that the drive that was stolen had Vox’s backup on it. And I’ve hung around with you guys this whole time. I know who Vox and Inq are.”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles says, frowning. “You do know computers, don’t you?”

“I’m an Argent; I was raised around all of that.”

“Sure,” Stiles says. 

“You two clearly have things to work out, but in the mean time, tell me what’s wrong so you can leave me alone,” Derek says. 

“Basically, Vox vanished from The Grid and his backup was stolen out of Scott’s car,” Stiles says. “I came to talk to you because you guys wanted to buy him.”

“Yeah, like a year ago. You think we did this?” Derek’s eyes flash dangerously, hard lines appearing on his face. His voice is little more than a growl. “We’re not thieves, Stiles.”

“Just checking,” Stiles says, holding up his hands. 

“Can you help us, though? I’ve got someone checking on it, but they haven’t found anything yet,” Allison says. 

“You certain it’s not your family?” Derek asks.

“Totally sure,” Allison says. 

Derek sighs, letting his head drop back and swiveling his chair back and forth. 

“I told Peter about wanting to buy Vox, last year,” Derek says finally. 

“Peter?” Allison asks.

“An uncle. He works at Encom and he… well, he’s kind of an evil asshole,” Derek says. “And he’s done shit like this before.”

“Great,” Stiles mutters. 

“Lemme –- hold on…” Derek turns back to his monitors, fingers on the keyboard. “You said Inq, earlier –- another program?”

“Mine,” Stiles says. “He’s a search program.”

“I’ll get someone on it,” Derek says, reaching for his phone at the same time and sending a text. “I’ve got a question, though. You said he was _on_ The Grid? Physically?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles says sheepishly. “I know it sounds insane.”

“Yeah, not that much,” Derek says, standing up. “That’s we’re working on - us and Allison.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Stiles says, turning towards Allison. She, in turn, is glaring at Derek. 

“You need to trust that not everyone is out to get you,” Derek says. 

“I’m working against my family, Derek,” Allison says. “I’m on incredibly thin ice here.”

“Stiles is an ass, but he’s trustworthy,” Derek says.

“And also standing right here,” Stiles points out. “So earlier, you were, what, playing dumb?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Allison says. “The shock helped. I didn’t realize anyone actually had that technology yet.”

“I think Encom does,” Stiles says. “That’s where Scott was when Inq pulled him onto The Grid.”

“We should go talk to Peter,” Derek sighs. “In the morning, though. You guys can crash here.”

Allison is out the door, Stiles close behind, when he turns around to stare at Derek. 

“Thanks,” Stiles says. “For all of this.”

Derek just nods to him, then turns back to the computer. 

\---

Scott had never realized how much The Grid reminded him of Blade Runner until now. He’s got his hood up and hands in his hoodie pocket, but there’s still rain dripping into his face and soaking his bangs. His hair is matted to his forehead and he has to blow a drop of water off the end of his nose. 

“Feeling a bit damp?” Inq asks. He’s wearing a poncho, something that Stiles would never be caught dead in. Evidently Inq’s more practical, which amuses Scott. He grins in response, and Inq reaches out to punch him lightly in the shoulder. 

It’s strange, seeing Inq like this. He’s seen him through Vox’s eyes many times, but the VR bands don’t quite translate the richness of The Grid in its entirety. Here, he’s fully immersed in a totally new world. He can feel the rain falling, the chill in the air. The light around his eyes from his hood catches in his vision every time he moves, something he had never quite picked up from Vox before. 

Inq is Stiles, for the most part. They’d designed their programs for The Grid two years before, based on even older avatar designs. Inq and Vox had ended up looking more like them when they were 18, with Scott’s floppy curls and Stiles’ brief foray into hipsterdom with an undercut. Inq was right about Vox’ body mod as well –- Scott was kind of a beanpole at 18. 

There’s something else about Inq though that sets him apart from Stiles, and although Scott can’t quite figure it out, he suspects it might be his eyes –- Stiles has been jaded since he was 11, but Inq has never been through what Stiles has, and it means there’s a youth and warmth in his eyes that Stiles lost a long time ago. Scott is sure that Vox has something similar. 

Vox and Inq are like clean slate versions of them. Bright eyes and minds. 

After they’re through downtown, Inq pulls him down an alley, in the direction of a shipping crate at the end of the narrow way. There’s an input tablet on the door of the container, and Inq unclips a small puck shaped instrument from the inside of his wrist. 

“Brute-force unit?” Scott guesses. 

“Yeah, they change the passwords every couple of hours. It’s not worth trying to bribe them out of someone,” Inq says as he presses the puck to the tablet. It stays, a holographic screen popping out from it, golden-yellow in the dark air. Immediately lines of numbers and letters start scrolling by, and occasionally one will highlight itself and pop out, arranged just above the screen.

“Handy,” Scott notes. “When did Stiles code you to hack?”

“He’s been working on it in bits and pieces for a while now,” Inq says, scrolling through the letters and numbers that have already been highlighted. “They’ve been beefing up security; they upgraded their key size.”

“Why are they even still using key sizes that you can brute-force?”

“It’s only on The Grid. I took a look at their real world encryptions once and it’s way beyond anything I could do here. It’s just assumed that they shouldn’t have problems on The Grid.”

“Guess they never accounted for Stiles.”

“Probably not,” Inq says, grinning. 

The hologram vanishes and the puck beeps, just before the door pops open with a metallic clunk.

“In we go,” Inq says, reaching for the door. However, before he gets there, someone swings it open. Scott backs up automatically, hauling Inq with him by his upper arm. A security detail waits on the other side, all armed with staffs that are humming menacingly. 

“Programs, you are in violation of key codes and private property,” the one in the lead says, his face totally hidden by his helmet. Scott sees Inq reach for his disc out of the corner of his eye, and Scott pops his own off his back, although he doesn’t know what to do with it. Vox might be able to fight, but Scott isn’t Vox. 

“Stay behind me,” Inq says, pulling Scott behind him. 

“I’m not going to let you--“ Scott starts.

“You’re the user,” Inq says, twisting the two halves of his disc apart. “You’re important.” 

Before Scott can reply, Inq launches himself at the lead security program, dropping to the ground when the program swings his staff around. It misses Inq, and he slides between the program’s legs, slicing at him as he goes. The program wails, dropping to a knee as one leg starts to crumble, orange voxels cascading to the ground. 

The next one launches himself at Scott, and he only gets his disc up in time to parry the attack, although he’s forced down under the strength of the program. 

“Surrender, program,” the guard says, and Scott just grunts in response, pushing back with everything he can. The staff skids along his disc, sending circuitry sparks from its edge. 

Scott sees Inq go down out of the corner of his eye, flung into the alley wall, and the momentary break in concentration is all the guard needs, bringing him down with a kick to the hip. He crumples to the ground with a strangled noise, pain blossoming through his body.

He has to force himself to move, to scramble backwards, the program coming after him and raising his staff. Scott can feel his heart pounding in his chest. The program is about to bring the staff down when, out of nowhere, an arrow sails through the air, leaving a bright trail of light in its wake. It punches into the center of the program’s chest, embedding itself deep. They both stare at it, the program’s helmet retracting back to reveal twisted surprise and pain on his face right before he bursts apart, voxels bouncing across the ground.

Two other arrows follow in quick succession, taking down the remaining two standing guards. The one who’s already on the ground, missing a leg, gets the last one to the forehead when he looks up at the sudden commotion. 

Inq scrambles up, making a beeline for Scott and pulling him into cover behind the open container door. 

“Are you ok?” Scott asks, rolling away from his injured hip. 

“I’m fine,” Inq says, breathless. “What about you? I was serious –- you can’t… just, stay alive.”

They peek out from behind the container. The alley is a mess of fallen voxels, their glow leaching out of them and into the rain that’s making the pavement slick. A few meters inside the mouth of the alley is a program, dressed in a basic Games light suit with a sleek helmet hiding its face. It’s carrying a bow, held downward with an arrow loosely nocked, as if waiting for more. Scott can see that the arrow is holographic: hollow and glowing, its wireframe just visible under the surface. 

After a moment the program slips the arrow and bow into a quiver on its back, and then, with a running start, jumps up to grab a pipe and then swings up and over it. It lands on a fire escape before jumping to the other side of the alley, one level higher. It’s fast, its slim figure almost lost in the dark except for the light strips on its suit that bleed into the misty air around it. 

They watch it vanish onto a rooftop, leaving the alley empty and dark. 

“What the hell was that?” Scott asks.

“I have no idea,” Inq says. He helps pull Scott to his feet, and although it hurts to put weight on one of his legs, he’ll be ok. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Totally sure,” Scott says. 

Inq bites his lip, looking past Scott. When Scott reaches out to touch him he closes his eyes, letting his head hang. 

“I’m sorry,” Inq says. “I put you in harm’s way.”

“I’m ok. We were doing this for a purpose.”

“I should have left you behind; it’s too dangerous. The Argents are dangerous.”

“Inq, I’m fine. It’s all fine. I understand that there are risks in this. We’re going to find Vox and make this all right.”

Inq looks at him, offering up a weak smile. “You look kinda like a drowned rat,” he says finally.

“Pot, kettle,” Scott says, grinning. “Wanna go find somewhere warm and dry to regroup?”

“Yeah,” Inq says. “And I think I know where we can find some reinforcements.” 

\---

Stiles figures that sharing a bed with Allison should be awkward. They might both be sleeping with Scott, but it’s a bit of a _never the twain shall meet_ -type situation. It’s not that he doesn’t like Allison, or doesn’t find her attractive –- he totally does. It’s just that he’s never had feelings for her beyond ‘your hair is mega hot’. And as far as he knows, the lack of feelings goes both ways. They’re fine with it, and they’re happy to share Scott. 

It seems like sleeping together would cross a line, but instead they’d curled up in the same bed in the Hales’ guest room and it’s been fine. Allison had dropped off to sleep fairly quickly, her curls a messy spread over her pillow.

Stiles, however, hadn’t been able to sleep. It’s almost four AM and he’s still wide awake. 

He lets out a little huff, frowning at the ceiling. Figuring that a staring contest with the ceiling isn’t going to get him to sleep, he carefully slips out of bed, mindful of not waking Allison, and heads for the kitchen. Maybe he just needs to walk around a bit or get a glass of water -- something to distract him from whatever’s keeping him from sleeping. 

He’s almost to the kitchen when he passes by the door to the office. It’s ajar, and he can hear the telltale clack of a keyboard from inside. He eases the door open a bit more, staring into the room. 

Derek is right where they left him a few hours ago. It looks like he’s got one monitor running Vim and another with a Unix boot screen. The third seems to be dominated by Pandora, which would explain the giant headphones Derek’s currently wearing. 

He still doesn’t have a light on, and the glow from the screens is washing him out, making him pale and grey. It reminds Stiles of The Grid, a little bit, where colors are flatter and lighter. 

He knocks on the doorframe but doesn’t get a response from Derek. The headphones must be noise-cancelling. He tries to walk as heavily as possible, but he’s in bare feet, and he’s still not sure that Derek is aware of him when he’s right behind him. Stiles leans a bit over his shoulder, looking at the screen running the boot. He can’t figure out exactly what Derek’s working on, he’s just got a long history directory queued up at the moment. 

Derek shifts, and in doing so, turns enough to finally notice Stiles. His eyes go comically wide and he flinches back into the far corner of the chair. Stiles takes a step back, probably looking just as wide-eyed. 

“Are you seriously sneaking around in the dark?” Derek growls, pulling his headphones down around his neck and glaring. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, rubbing the back of his head. “I couldn’t sleep and I was going to go get some water, and… your door was open.”

“It wasn’t an invitation.

“Sorry,” Stiles says. “Um, just out of curiosity, what are you working on?”

Derek takes a deep breath in through his nose, looking back at his center monitor. 

“What Allison was talking about earlier. The Argents are actively working to try to be able to transport people to The Grid, but she doesn’t trust them. Her grandfather’s kinda taken her under his wing, so she’s fully aware of what’s going on. She’s afraid they’ll just militarize the hell out of The Grid –- users are a lot harder to kill than programs.”

“That would suck,” Stiles says. He rolls over a stool and sits down next to Derek before pointing at the mouse. “May I?”

“Don’t fuck anything up,” Derek mutters. 

“Gosh, and that was my whole plan,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. Derek just glares at him, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. 

“I wasn’t lying earlier. The coding really isn’t done,” Derek says. 

“That’s chill,” Stiles says, scrolling through what Derek’s been doing. “This is some next level shit. I mean, digitizing humans? Totally insane.”

“And evidently possible,” Derek says. “Good to know we’re working towards a real goal.”

They sit in silence for a while, Stiles reading and Derek checking his phone. Stiles can still hear Derek’s music, tinny through the headphones. It’s an eerie sound and in the dark, it reminds Stiles of something. It takes him a second to make the connection, and when he does, he can’t help laughing. 

“What?” Derek asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Are you seriously coding in the dark while listening to Massive Attack?” Stiles laughs, biting his lip. “Where are your matching trench coat and cool ‘90s shades?”

“It’s a duster,” Derek mutters.

“Sorry?”

“Neo’s coat. It’s a duster. Trench coats are shorter.”

Stiles manages to turn his laugh into a cough-choke, but Derek’s eyebrows still get frownier. 

“You know, that look is what attracted me to you,” Stiles says, voice rough and eyes watering from coughing. 

“What?”

“The totally intense stare. Like you’ve trying to see into someone’s mind.”

“Save it, Stiles. It was a one-time thing, and a mistake.” 

“Oh,” Stiles says, staring at his hand on the mouse. He flicks the scroll wheel back and forth, listening as the song playing changes. _Inertia Creeps_ becomes _Teardrop_. Stiles turns back to the monitors and finds himself humming along, almost automatically. It’s easy to disassociate as he reads. “You should turn on spell check.”

“Huh?”

“You have a couple of typos,” Stiles says. “Go back to command and pop set spell in.”

“I know what to do. And Laura’s the editor around here,” Derek says, sighing, but he follows Stiles’ suggestion. The clacking of the keyboard in Derek’s lap gets Stiles to look back at him. He’s expecting Derek to look angry, but instead he just looks kind of tired and blank. 

“I didn’t mean to run out on you,” Stiles says softly. “I really did have class. And I was 19, being a moron and thinking of a million things at once. I just kind of… forgot.”

Derek swallows and pulls his hands off the keys, cracking his fingers and then rubbing a palm over his face. 

“I don’t like people just leaving,” Derek says. “It’s happened before. And I don’t normally just go out and pick people up.”

“Then why me?”

“I’d seen you around with Cora and Allison,” Derek says, shrugging. “Figured you were safe. You weren’t just some random guy.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says. Derek drops his hand from his face and meets Stiles’ eyes. In the dark Derek’s eyes are glowing a dim blue from the computer screens. “I really do mean it.”

“I know you do,” Derek says so quietly that it’s almost lost in the music. 

Stiles pushes back from the desk and spins on the stool so that he’s fully facing Derek. When he reaches for Derek, he doesn’t pull away, and Stiles wraps a hand around the side of his neck. Derek lets him tip his head forward and Stiles leans in to meet him. 

Derek’s lips are dry under his, and Stiles sucks in a breath, breathing him in. Derek opens his mouth, lets Stiles in, and reaches out a hand to tug at him. Stiles gets the message, breaking the kiss just long enough to scramble into Derek’s lap, knocking the keyboard to the floor. Stiles holds Derek’s chin, tipping his head back so that he can lean over him, lips on lips, heat flickering in his face and chest. 

“Fuck,” Derek says, the word caught in the space between them, and Stiles just nods clumsily, licking his way into his mouth. 

Derek slips his hands under Stiles’ shirt, his palms spreading across Stiles’ lower back and reeling him in, until they’re pressed as close together as possible, breathing harsh and loud, tangled up with the song from Derek’s headphones. 

\---

They end up in a coffee shop on the far, sleepy edge of town, waiting on Inq’s reinforcements. 

There are almost no programs around in this part of the city, and the little shop is empty besides them and the bored-looking barista, who’s currently sitting on the counter and reading something on a tablet with an air of indifference. 

Scott’s surprised to find that he can drink the coffee. It doesn’t taste quite right – it’s flat and sharp, a one-dimensional pastiche of what it should taste like – but it’s warm, and right now that’s all that matters. He presses a palm to his injured hip, pressing down and wincing slightly. It’s getting better alarmingly fast, but it still hurts. 

“Users heal differently here, don’t they?” Scott asks. Inq startles from where he was looking vacantly out of the windows. He blinks owlishly at Scott for a moment before nodding. 

“Yeah. It’s natural but accelerated. You guys don’t have to be repaired, like us.”

“Interesting,” Scott says, taking another sip of coffee. “So even though I’m digital, I’m still flesh and blood.”

“You’re living. Which is why if you… if you die here, that’s it.”

“I figured.”

Inq offers him a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes right before a beep sounds from somewhere. Inq holds his palm out in front of him, pressing near his little finger with his thumb. Another holographic screen springs to life over his hand, not unlike a cellphone in size and shape. 

“Ok, the cavalry has arrived. Evidently they were also looking for us,” Inq says, craning his neck around to stare out the far window. “Yep, I see them across the street.”

They hustle back out into the rain, crossing the street without a single light cycle or pedestrian in view. There’s a small open square across the way, and three programs are waiting in the bandstand near the center of the square. Their light lines glow a dull golden-yellow. 

“The cavalry is a bunch of hackers?” Scott asks. 

“Yeah, but they’re fine,” Inq says. “Their users are all siblings, and they’re fighting the good fight, I swear. They’ve got some family member at Encom, being all evil. This is just their way of restoring balance and all that. Totally white hat, I swear. Or, sorta. Depending on how you look at it.” 

Inq leads the way up the stairs of the stand and out of the rain, and one of the two women lowers her hood, revealing her face. She’s got cascading dark waves of hair and a warm smile that Scott realizes he knows. 

“Laura?” he asks, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. 

“I thought you said Vox was missing?” the other woman says, and when she pulls her hood down Scott recognizes her as Cora. “Pretty sure he’s right here.”

“It’s Scott, not Vox,” the third person says, and Scott knows who it is before he lowers his hood. The man under the hood is smiling slightly, though, which surprises Scott. He hasn’t seen Derek in a while, but he can’t remember him ever looking so soft. “Scott, I’m Daemon, Derek’s rootkit.”

“I didn’t realize you guys were on The Grid,” Scott says. 

“That’s kinda the point of programs like us,” Cora points out. “I’m Cee, and that’s Ada.” She jerks a thumb in the direction of Laura’s program. 

“Nice to meet you guys,” Scott says. “Does this mean one of your users knows what’s up?”

“Derek does,” Ada answers. “I’m pretty sure Laura and Cora are asleep right now. Stiles and Allison are with him.”

“God, this is so weird,” Scott says. 

“I can see how that would be,” Ada says with a smile. “But we have some information that might--“

The sound of approaching footsteps makes them all turn. A program is jogging across the square, head down against the rain, even though it’s wearing a helmet. 

“Shit,” Inq says. “It’s--“

“The program from earlier,” Scott says. Inq is already stepping in front of Scott, disc in hand. 

The program slides to a stop at the bottom of the steps, holding up its hands to show that they’re empty. Its bow is safely stored in its quiver, along with all the arrows. 

“Not here to hurt you,” the program says, its voice heavily modulated by the helmet. “I was told to just keep an eye on you, but considering the whole gang’s here…”

As the program comes up the steps its helmet drops away, voxel by voxel, revealing another familiar face. 

“Allison?” Scott asks, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. 

“Artemis,” she answers with a smile. “Sorry for shooting and dashing earlier, Allison said she didn’t want me letting on who I was. But the Hales are here, so hey. Guess everyone’s in at this point, right?”

“You’re Allison’s program?” Scott asks, disbelieving. 

“She’ll explain it all to you when you get back,” Artemis says. “And she says she’s sorry, but she had a good reason for keeping this from you.”

“Did you know about this?” Scott asks, turning to Inq. He, however, looks as confused as Scott feels, and shakes his head. 

“We did,” Daemon says. “Allison’s been working with our users on a project.”

“I definitely have to talk to her when I get back,” Scott mutters. 

“I unfortunately don’t know anything about Vox’s whereabouts,” Artemis says. “But I can be the muscle.”

“That’s good, because we _do_ know where he is,” Ada says. “And who took him.”

“Derek had a hunch,” Cee explains. “And we got some intel that suggests he was right.”

“So?” Scott asks. 

“A virus called Kerberos has him. He used to be a hacking program, but he was infected by his user,” Daemon says. 

“A user purposely infected their program?” Artemis asks, her voice quiet and shocked. 

“Unfortunately,” Daemon says. 

“He’s being held in Encom tower,” Ada says. 

“Of course,” Inq mutters. “Right where we started.”

“Murphy’s law,” Scott says, and Inq cracks a grin. 

“Getting in won’t be hard,” Artemis says. “But I imagine getting to this Kerberos will be.”

“Probably,” Cee says, grinning. She pulls her disc from her back and splits it in half. It glows brighter, spikes appearing off the edge of each piece. “Luckily, we have more people and better firepower.” 

They head back out into the rain, hoods up and helmets on. Inq and Scott bring up the rear, walking close enough that their arms brush.

“Thanks,” Scott says, smiling at him. “You’ve been amazing.”

Inq beams at that, knocking their shoulders together. “Just doing my job,” he says. 

“And you want to get Vox back.”

“I do. For you,” Inq says. At Scott’s eyebrow raise he smiles quietly, looking down. “And, ok, for me too.”

“He’ll be happy to see you,” Scott says. Inq’s grin is as bright as his light strips. 

\---

The first thing he’s aware of are voices. They come and go between the pounding in his skull, sharp intonation punctuated by the aching throb that sounds deafening to his ears. 

He almost wonders if he’s dreaming, but he knows better. He can’t dream. Wasn’t programmed to. 

When he finally forces himself to open his eyes, the world is hazy and dark, like there’s a heavy fog over everything. He groans, rolling over onto his side and pressing a palm flat against the floor where he’s laid out. When he tries to sit up there is a sudden, white-hot pain in his head, and he falls back to the floor, grabbing at his head, his mouth open in a silent scream. 

He drifts. Somewhere, in the background, there are voices again.

_e’s resisting what yo… taking… no glitch or corr… r lasting damage…_

He’s not sure how long it takes for the haze and the pain to go down to a level where he can move. He listens until the voices are gone, until there is silence (save for the pounding in his head), and then he tries to sit up again.

There is pain everywhere and he wants to crumple back in on himself, but he forces himself to stay sitting, to open his eyes, to really see. 

His vision swims, double vision and dead pixels making it hard to pick things out. He manages to drag himself to a wall and sit against it, letting his head fall back and taking deep, sobbing breaths. When he looks out he can see that he’s in a holding box somewhere, the only light coming from a strip around the base of the glass walls that hold him. 

The room beyond is almost black, and he can’t see if there’s anything in it. 

He looks down at himself, looking for damage. His armor has been stripped, but his light suit is still almost fully intact. He just has a piece missing over one hip, pixels scattered and revealing his skin. There is a faint scar, five gashes, like someone had clawed their way under his skin.

The memory comes back like smoke, curling around in his mind. He was attacked. He remembers green, and a wicked smile, framed by a deep voxel scar that had claimed one of the program’s eyes. 

With shaking hands he manages to pull his ID disc off his back and hold it in front of him, pulling up his own code. There is damage in places, but it’s working on repairing itself, and he watches as light flares in a line of code, carefully folding it back into place. 

This is what his code does –- it fixes itself. It’s why, Scott had told him, people had been interested in buying him. Programs can’t heal normally. There are self-coding ones, but none of them can do what he can do, and none of them can fundamentally alter their own code, either. 

He helps the code along, fixing things, watching fibers spin their way around damaged code like spider webs. When he’s sure enough has healed, he snaps the disc back into place, and immediately slouches over in relief as his mind clears. When he looks up and opens his eyes, the world is clearer and the dead pixels are gone. His head is still throbbing, but he can work with that. 

He stands up carefully, his legs feeling weak and shaky, and makes his way to a seam in the box wall, a telltale sign of a door. He presses a thumb to the lock icon, and the mechanism springs to life, floating in front of him. It takes a few tries, but he’s able to line up the tumblers so that they click open, and the door slides back. 

The room beyond the holding box is empty, although circuitry on the floor suggests that there can be other cells if there needs to be. He’s careful as he opens the door, peeking out through a crack before he fully opens it. The hall beyond is empty, although he doesn’t trust it to stay like that. He’s sure he set off some kind of alarm by picking the lock. 

Sure enough, around the first corner, two security programs are making their way towards him. He unhooks his disc, splitting it into two. He tries to call up his helmet, but gets an error when he does –- evidently whoever took his armor took that as well.

“Halt, program!” one of the guards says. “You are to come with us and return to your cell.”

“Sorry, guys,” he says. “I’ve got other plans.” 

Before they can decide to go on the offensive, Vox springs at them, swinging out the of way of their staffs and twisting behind them, discs flashing as he goes. He catches one at the back of the neck, taking her head off and spilling her across the floor. The other one manages to knock Vox’s feet out from under him with his staff, but he’s faster, and comes up with one of his discs leading the way, burying it in the program’s chest. The program makes a corrupted sound, modular and painful, and then goes the way of his comrade. 

He keeps his discs out, stepping over the fallen mess of voxels and continues down the hallway. 

When he’s almost to the end, the door he’s heading for opens up. The scarred program from his memory is standing there, a twisted smirk on his face. The sickly green glow of his light lines illuminates the walls, throwing shadows. 

“Hello, Vox,” the virus says. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

“Who are you?” Vox asks, holding his ground. 

“I am Kerberos, and my user is _very_ interested in you.”

“A lot of people have been. I’m not for sale.”

“He instructed me to bring you to him by whatever means necessary. Buying was never really an option. I tried to just infect you, but it seems that your famous code won’t allow that to quite take hold.”

Vox knows that there’s no way out if he goes back. The only way out of here is through Kerberos. 

“You need to let me through,” Vox says. “I’m leaving.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s in the plan,” Kerberos says, smirking. His good eye, however, narrows, flashing green. 

“You wanna try to stop me? You’ll end up derezzed.”

“I don’t think so.”

Vox doesn’t give him the chance to make a move, just launches himself at Kerberos. The virus is fast, though, and manages to swing out of the way. Vox comes back around, discs first, and slices them through the air where Kerberos was just standing. He moves like liquid, filtering through space, slick and fast. 

In one fluid motion Kerberos grabs his own disc, throwing it at Vox. He manages to duck just in time, and then has to flip out of the way when it comes back to Kerberos’ hand. 

“Don’t think I won’t kill you,” Kerberos snarls. “All I need is your identity disc.”

“You can’t have it!” Vox says, and slams his discs down at Kerberos. He manages to get his own disc apart in time to parry the blow, though, and their discs crash together, crackling and hissing. 

Vox moves as fast as he can, bringing the discs back and then striking again and again, and again. The humming of the discs slices through the air, singing, and Vox forces Kerberos back, through the door, out onto a balcony into the towering central atrium of the building. He manages to slice into Kerberos’ face, over his scar. The wound glows angrily, voxels rolling down his face, but it’s not deep enough to do any more damage. 

Kerberos moves almost too fast for Vox to catch him, and bodily slams him into the glass railing. He has to grab it to stop from going over the edge, and in the process drops one half of his disc. He looks back for a heartbeat to watch it falling through the atrium, and then has to throw himself out of the way as Kerberos brings his disc down, embedding it in the glass that Vox was just standing in front of. 

The half a second he takes to free his disc from the railing is all Vox needs. He kicks Kerberos in the stomach, sending him stumbling into the glass. It cracks under the continued assault before finally giving way, shards raining down. Vox grabs Kerberos by the front of his light suit before he can fall as well, and holds him, unbalanced and half off the balcony into the open air. Vox kicks his disc away, sending it bouncing into the far wall. 

“I told you I was leaving,” Vox says. “This all could have been avoided if you just let me through.”

Kerberos snarls, reaching out a hand for Vox, and Vox lets go. 

\---

Scott notices that when they come through the doors to Encom Tower, there is glass falling like rain, shattering on the floor of the lobby. Lying in the middle of it is an ID disc. 

“What the--“ Cee says, and they all look up. There, at the very top of the atrium, 50 floors up, someone is dangling over the ledge of a balcony, being held in place by another program. They watch as whoever is holding lets go, and the program slips off the balcony, tumbling through empty space with more glass. 

He slams into the ground, and for a moment it seems like he might get back up. But then his body dissolves into glowing green voxels, spreading across the floor over the glass and the disc. 

“Holy shit,” Scott says, and looks back up. The balcony is now empty, only the hole in the railing left behind. 

“That might have been Kerberos,” Ada says. “It was a virus, whoever it was.”

“Then who’s coming down the elevator?” Cee asks, pointing towards the elevators across the lobby. The readout above one is ticking down, floor by floor. 

“Guard, probably,” Daemon says, and Cee grabs her disc, splitting it , the spikes springing to life from the edges. Artemis pulls out her bow and two arrows, training them on the door of the elevator. 

They all tense when the door opens, but the only program who steps out is Vox. 

Scott stares as Inq breaks away from the group and bowls into Vox, clamping onto him in a crushing hug. Vox locks eyes with Scott though, and it’s the strangest thing –- it’s like looking into a mirror with just a few things wrong, but a few things are enough to be incredibly disconcerting. He’s got Scott’s longer hair and slimmer body, and there are fewer lines on his face and a glow in his eyes. 

Vox and Inq walk together, never more than a few inches from each other, over to the pile of voxels. Vox kicks some of them away, retrieving the disc and then snapping it together with the half in his hand before slipping it into place on his back. 

When he comes to stand in front of Scott he sees that they’re the same height. He knows that he shouldn’t be surprised – he designed him, after all – but it just adds to the strangeness, that Vox is so close to looking exactly like Scott. 

“Hi,” Vox says, sounding almost shy. “It’s amazing to meet you. Like, really meet you. For real.”

“Likewise,” Scott says, and he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “I’m really glad you’re ok.”

“So am I,” Vox says, letting out a little laugh. 

“We were totally late to this party, weren’t we?” Cee asks, toeing at a stray voxel by her boot. 

“Just by like half a milicycle,” Vox says, grinning. “I appreciate the rescue attempt though.”

“Was it Kerberos?” Daemon asks, and Vox nods. 

“Yeah, and he said it was on his user’s orders,” Vox says. 

“Peter,” Cee mutters.

“He’s still a user, he still deserves our respect,” Ada says.

“Uh, not really,” Cee says, putting her hands on her hips. “He’s kinda really evil.”

“That’s not our problem,” Daemon says. “Scott, can you take this information back to the real world?”

“Yeah, of course,” Scott says. “Which, uh, by the way. How does that work, exactly?”

“Same way you came in,” Inq says. “I told Stiles he has to open it up from the other side.”

“How did you find out about that, by the way?” Vox asks. 

“I was curious about that as well,” Ada says. 

“Anonymous tip,” Inq says. “It was actually really weird; I couldn’t trace where the message was from. But it worked.”

“Guarantee you it was Peter,” Cee says. “Not only would he get Vox, but he could take you out of the picture.”

“Let’s get you home,” Vox says. “We’ll come with you.”

The Hales leave them at the elevator, after giving Scott a thumb drive with everything they know about Peter and Kerberos. Scott’s kind of sad to see them go, in a way. He’d missed the Hales.

“Who are you?” Vox asks Artemis when they’re in the elevator, watching the floors tick by. “Because you look just like Allison, but she doesn’t have a program.”

“I’m Artemis, and Allison does have a program,” Artemis says, grinning. “Hi.”

Vox turns towards Scott, clearly surprised. Scott can only shrug in response. 

“Evidently Allison’s got some stories for me when I get back,” Scott says. 

“Clearly,” Vox says.

When Scott looks back from the glass walls of the elevator he sees that Vox and Inq are holding hands, their tightly clasped hands mostly shielded by their bodies. He smiles to himself, tucking his chin down into the collar of his hoodie. 

The room with the digitization laser is right where they left it, untouched and quiet. Inq goes over to the flat panel on the wall and pulls up a command prompt, typing something in. 

“Ok, we’re good to go,” Inq says. 

“Thanks for everything,” Scott says, and before Inq can protest he grabs him up in a hug. Inq laughs, returning the hug, his hands clasped in the back of Scott’s hoodie on either side of his identity disc. “This was all you. I would have gotten myself killed without you.”

“Give yourself some credit,” Inq says. “You are a user, after all.”

They break apart, grinning. 

“Stay safe,” Artemis says, with a little salute. “And tell Allison hi.”

“Will do,” Scott says. 

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Vox says, holding up a hand. “High five?”

“Absolutely,” Scott laughs, reaching up to slap his palm into Vox’s and then holding it to pull him into a quick hug. 

“See you on the flip side,” Vox says as he backs up with Artemis, leaving Scott standing in the middle of the room with Inq at the control screen. 

Scott nods at him with a grin, and then The Grid drops away. 

\---

When he’s aware of solid ground under his feet again, he opens his eyes. He’s in the same room, but the grey and black and light strips have dropped away, and now it’s just the beige room with the server racks from before. 

He blinks a few times, surprised at the bright light in the room –- someone has turned the overhead lights on. 

“Welcome back,” someone says, and Scott turns to see Stiles and Allison standing by the far wall. 

“Hey guys,” Scott says. “Did I miss anything?”

“Not really,” Allison says, and then walks to him and wraps him up in a hug. He buries his face in her neck, closing his eyes and breathing her in. The smells on The Grid had been muted, almost to the point of nonexistence, and now the familiar sharp spice of Allison’s shampoo smells like home. 

“Except for the fact that Allison’s been leading a double life,” Stiles says. 

“Oh, I met Artemis,” Scott says, pulling back just far enough to look at Allison. “She says hi.”

“I’m not surprised she didn’t listen to me to stay hidden,” Allison says, rolling her eyes. “So I guess you kind of know?”

“Sorta kinda. You owe me some stories.”

“I do, I’m sorry,” Allison says, sighing. “It’s… complicated.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Scott says. 

Stiles comes over to swing an arm around Scott’s shoulder, bumping him with his hip and grinning. 

“Later,” Stiles says. “Right now, you owe us stories. This is all _insane_.”

“It was pretty cool,” Scott admits. “It was like… well, nothing else.”

“I’m kinda jealous, no lie,” Stiles says. “But mostly I’m glad you’re back in one piece.”

He presses a kiss to the side of Scott’s head, and Scott leans against him. Allison smiles at them, reaching out to brush some of Scott’s hair out of his face.

“Let’s go home,” Allison says, linking her arm through Scott’s. 

There are people in the halls outside of the room, light streaming in through the windows that line the corridor. Scott stops for a moment, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of the warm sun against his face. 

“I missed you guys,” Scott says, and when he opens his eyes both Stiles and Allison are looking at him with the same kind of soft smile, warm and quiet. 

“You too,” Stiles says. 

“Next time?” Allison asks. “You’re taking us with you.”

“Can do,” Scott says, laughing, and somehow he doesn’t doubt that there will be a next time. They know how to get onto The Grid now. 

In the meantime, though, Scott enjoys the sun and the heat from the two bodies he’s pressed between. 

“By the way,” Scott says, when they’re back in the elevator, heading for the ground floor. “Did you guys locate Vox’s drive?”

“I did. Peter Hale had it,” Allison says. “And it’s taken care of.”

“This newfound version of you that’s second in line for the Argentech empire? Kinda scary. But also really handy,” Stiles says. 

“It’s got its perks,” Allison says. 

“Ok, I’m sorry,” Scott says. “I can’t wait; you need to spill.”

Allison bites her lip, staring off to the side for a moment before she turns back to him. 

“This all started years ago, in high school, when I heard my mom talking about digitizing users…”

\---

“So,” Inq says, standing outside Encom Tower with Vox and Artemis. The rain has finally stopped, and a fine mist hangs in the air, making the air glow even more than usual. “What do we do now?”

“I’m sure Peter won’t stop,” Artemis says. “He’s just gotten a bit delayed. And Allison’s family still has dreams of militarization.” 

“We live to fight another day,” Vox says. “Although, we might need some extra help.”

“I’m pretty good with a bow,” Artemis says, smiling. “If you guys don’t mind the company.”

“Not at all,” Inq says. “Where to?”

“I’ve got a bit of a base,” Artemis says. “Out at the edge of town, not too far from the Argent security compound.” 

She pulls two light cycle batons from her quiver, handing one over to Vox. 

“Sorry, I don’t have three,” she says, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. 

“I’ll ride shotgun with Vox,” Inq says, smirking at Vox. Vox just grins back, bumping Inq with his hip. 

“Race you there,” Artemis says, and takes off running, activating her light cycle. 

“Unfair head start!” Inq calls. He and Vox tear after her, Vox already pulling the baton open, the light cycle springing to life under them.


End file.
